Brothers
by musefatale
Summary: Regulus/Sirius. After learning of his brother’s supposed death, Sirius returns to his family’s home to mourn, and to remember. Written in 2007


**Title: **Brothers  
**Author: **muselolita  
**Pairing:**Sirius/Regulus  
**Warning: **incest, underage sex, DH-spoilers, flashback sequence  
**Summary: **After learning of his brother's supposed death, Sirius returns to his family's home to mourn, and to remember.

**Brothers**

Sirius didn't get word about his brother's death until weeks after the rest of his family did. Even then, he did not hear it from the mouth of a relative, but from a blurb in the Daily Prophet that happened to catch his eye one afternoon:

**Missing Boy Assumed Dead**

Regulus Arcturus Black, 18, son of Orion Black and Walburga Nigellus-Black, missing for twenty-eight days, has been determined to be most likely deceased. While a body has not been found, circumstances surrounding his disappearance, including his rumored murder by You-Know-Who himself has led officials in charge of the case to pronounce it officially closed. A memorial will be held at the Black family manor, by invitation only.

Sirius scanned the piece once, twice, and then a third time before ripping it from the Prophet, folding it neatly, and laying it neatly on the table where he sat. He was more surprised that the Daily Prophet had said as much about it as they did than the fact that his brother was dead. He had known that it was inevitable since Regulus joined the Death Eaters a few years ago. Of course, there would be suppositions and rumors surrounding his brother's death, no doubt encouraged by his mother and cousins. Death, if it must come, must be fitting of the standing of a Black; and being killed by You-Know-Who himself would no doubt make his mother quite proud. Her son had been important enough to warrant personal attention, instead of being rid of by some lackey.

He finished reading the Prophet, the article just out of his line of sight. It wasn't that he didn't care about his brother's death – quite the opposite of it, in fact. He was trying to decide if he would be welcomed back at his family's home if he so chose to go back there to mourn the loss of his brother. Reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the table next to him, he slipped one out of the pack and slid it between his thin lips, lighting it with the tip of his wand. It was a bad habit James had gotten him started on when they were still in school that he never felt the need to overcome; he had the feeling he'd die of something else long before lung cancer could ever take him.

Setting the paper down at last, Sirius reached out and brought the clipping of his brother's pseudo-obituary back to himself. He sighed deeply and brushed a hand through his thick black hair, finally deciding that he had no choice but to try to go. Whether or not they would let him in the house was something that he had no control over. He sincerely thought that they would turn him away – calling him a blood traitor and a shame to the Black family name. They would say that he had no right paying his respects to his fallen brother. That Regulus, were he alive, would not want him there; that, more than anything else, made Sirius' stomach clench and anger well up in his throat.

Grabbing the ashtray and the clipping, he stood from the table and walked from the kitchen into the living room, sitting down on a worn sofa and kicking one foot up on the table in front of him. He'd come a long way from richly adorned house he had lived in as a child, and had so quickly run away from as a teen. Not that his house was terribly shabby, it was the best he could afford with what little his uncle Alphard had given him when he graduated. He was alone, though. James had gone off and gotten married and Remus was off God knows where trying to find his place; Peter, well Peter was and always had been useless, and Sirius would rather be alone than _that_ alternative. His friends had moved on, and he was still sitting on the same couch he had bought three years ago, watching the same Muggle that he had been watching just as long. His brother's death only served to make him feel even more alone than ever.

Regulus had been his last tie to the family who had disowned him, and now he was gone. Sirius couldn't bring himself to mourn, he just sat numbly thinking, hoping, that there was a chance his brother might not be dead at all. He didn't know how long he would be able to sit in denial before reality came knocking. All he knew at that moment was that he needed to go to that service; he needed to know why the family was so certain that Regulus was dead.

A day and a few owls later and Sirius had finally convinced his cousin Narcissa to tell him when the family was getting together, that Saturday at noon. Saturday was two days off, which gave Sirius enough time to find something suitable to wear, to convince Lily to cut his hair, and make himself look at least somewhat presentable. It wasn't as though he particularly cared what his family thought about his appearance, outside of the fact that if he looked like he had been living in some low-rent Muggle flat they'd turn him out faster than if he'd come in sporting a pink tutu and flowers in his hair.

When Saturday finally did roll around, Sirius found himself regretting his decision to go more and more. His hair was cut, his face shaven, his best trousers and shirt pressed, but he still felt as though he was lacking in the proper attire to greet his family. Perhaps it was the Dark Mark, blaringly absent from his left forearm that gave him away. He paced the length of his living room, wand clutched tightly in his hand, trying work up the courage to Apparate there. He never thought he would be returning to that house, and especially not under these circumstances. He had been a fool to burn that bridge so quickly.

He sighed and shook his head, Apparating. Sirius arrived on the front stoop of Number Twelve Grimmauld place just as the door was about to click closed. He caught his foot in the door and pushed in after a pair of regally standing blondes, neither one distinguishable from the other from behind. He always thought it exceedingly amusing that the family had picked a suitor for his cousin Narcissa who was prettier than she was. He watched as the pair removed their traveling cloaks, Narcissa in her cornflower-blue dress, and the man in high-collar black robes.

She noticed him before anyone else did, thankfully, and gave him a suspiciously kind nod. "We thought you would show up, Sirius, dear," she said, causing her husband to turn around and sneer at him.

Sirius gave a polite nod in return, "Am I late?" he asked.

"No, right on time, in fact; did you _still _not receive your invitation?"

"No," he glowered.

"Ah, that's strange; I told auntie that she needed to send you one after you owled. Everyone knew how close you were to Reg."

Sirius hummed in agreement and tugged off his own coat, hanging it up on the coat rack just inside the door – but not before withdrawing his cigarettes and depositing them safely in the pocket of his trousers.

"Come," Narcissa said, "everyone's probably in the sitting room."

Sirius followed her, his head down just as his mother would have him walk into that house – ashamed. He was always thankful for his cousin Narcissa's kindness, even though it would vanish as soon as they were in front of everyone else. The least he could do was pray that Andromeda would be there, though he knew they probably wouldn't even pay her the respect of sending her an invitation.

The sitting room was already filled, and there was just enough room saved for Narcissa and… what the hell was his name? Lucifer? Lucille? Ah… that's right, Lucius… to sit. Sirius was left standing awkwardly just inside the doorway. Across the room was his mother, in her black robes with the high lace collar hugging tightly to her pale gooseneck. She had her face buried in a lace handkerchief and was sobbing into the shoulder of his uncle. He cringed inwardly at the sight of her – a woman who invoked the strongest revulsion and hatred. How she had given birth to anything but a Dementor, he would never know.

When he had come out of his bitterness, he was hearing the edge of a conversation. "It's really very sad about Regulus…" his grandfather, Pollux was commenting, "now we've got to depend on that strapping lad dear Narcissa is carrying to further the bloodline of the Most Noble House of Black."

Sirius clenched his teeth to keep his mouth shut and watched as his mother nodded and his cousin beamed with pride. He refrained from pointing out that Narcissa was carrying a Malfoy just as much as she was a Black… French pigs.

It seemed as though either no one noticed Sirius standing there or they were all ignoring him; either way he felt like a shadow against the wall, strangely invisible to everyone there. Taking advantage of the fact that he was being ignored, Sirius slipped from the room and walked down the long hall to the stairs. He started up the flight, careful that he skipped over the creaky boards, remembering still where every single one was. He reached the landing and followed the dark hall to the end where his bedroom and Regulus' bedroom stood facing each other. Slowly, he pushed open the door to his brother's room.

It had changed a lot since the last time he'd been in there. On the wall was torn-out newspaper clipping about Voldemort and the Death Eaters – pasted like trophies or something to be proud of above his bed. Sirius reached into his pocket and pulled out his smokes, and the folded up clipping he'd cut from the Daily Prophet a few days ago. He pulled a cigarette out, lit it, and shoved the pack down in his pocket as he walked over to the shrine-like wall. Pressing the clipping in the center of the rest of them, Sirius tapped it with his wand and stuck it there. Now, "Missing Boy Assumed Dead" stuck out in the middle of all of the rest.

Sighing, Sirius sat back on the bed, his elbows on his knees and his cigarette dangling from his lips, as he remembered the last time he'd been in that room.

It was three years ago, Regulus was fifteen and Sirius had just graduated from Hogwarts. He had stopped by to grab a few last things that he'd not been able to take with him when he ran away the summer before. One small bag was packed and slung over his shoulder and then, like now, a cigarette was dangling from between his lips. He took a long drag of his cigarette and plucked it from his lips, exhaling and savoring the sweet tingle of nicotine across his lips. He wet his lips, transferring the tingle to the tip of his tongue. Then, he shifted the bag on his shoulder and started towards the staircase.

About halfway down the hallway, he became acutely aware of a presence behind him – like a ghost, like someone giving him the evil eye. It was like the presence of his bitch of a mother, only less domineering. Sirius turned slowly on his heel to look behind him, to where his younger brother was standing gaunt like a specter at the end of the hallway. He had this sallow look to his face, his eyes bloodshot with heavy bags lining them, and his lank hair was even more so, his school uniform two sizes too big and hanging from him like a death shroud. Had he been crying?

"Regulus, what are you doing there?"

"Don't leave," the boy answered flatly.

Sirius sighed and shook his head. They had this conversation almost a year ago when he had left the first time. Regulus has been Sirius' shadow up until Sirius had gone to Hogwarts, and then two years later he was his shadow once more, regardless of how much Sirius had tried to avoid him. He just didn't understand when Sirius said he'd had enough last year, and left. Sirius let his cigarette dangle loosely from his fingers, brushing his hair away from his face coolly with his other hand.

"You know I can't stay here, Reg," Sirius explained, as softly as he could muster at that moment.

"You don't have to leave, though. Just, tell mother that you agree with her and she'll be happy."

"I can't do that, you know I won't," Sirius said, shaking his head wearily.

"But I don't want to be here all by myself!" he protested.

"And I don't want to be here at all!" Sirius retorted.

They both fell silent for a long while, staring at each other. Sirius knew that he should just turn around and leave; he shouldn't validate the obstinate spoiled-brat behavior of his younger brother. But Regulus was still family, still one of the few members of the family who would still acknowledge him, and he couldn't just leave him like that. Sirius shook his head, setting his bag down at the top of the stairs, quickly closing the distance between himself and his younger brother.

"Listen," Sirius sighed, "let me know when mother will be out of the house, you know how to get hold of me, and I'll Floo here right away and we'll… play chess or something, so long as _no one_ talks about sides, or the war, or any of that. Deal?"

Regulus nodded, "Deal," he agreed.

Sirius bent down and hugged his brother tightly with one arm before messing his hair and turning back down the hall. He grabbed his bags, taking the stairs two at a time, getting out of the house as quickly as he could.

Exactly one week later, in keeping with his end of the deal, Regulus sent Sirius a message that their mother was in Wizarding London doing some shopping. Sirius knew that when his mother went out it was usually for a whole day, or at least the better part of an afternoon. He was thankful for the excuse to leave his apartment, and to kick Peter – who had been visiting – out. He didn't bother with a cloak or even his better robes, just pulled on a pair of dragon-hide boots and Flooed to Grimmauld Place.

Stepping from the fireplace in the sitting room of his family home, Sirius dust himself off and pushed his hair away from his face. It was beginning to grow longer again. His hair, that was. Regulus was no where to be found in here, and Sirius was a little annoyed that he wasn't waiting. He made it quickly from the sitting room into the kitchen, peering around and finding it too was empty. Sirius growled and turned down the hall, taking two steps at a time up to the second floor. He passed the guest rooms rather quickly to the end of the hall, finding his brother's usually closed door slightly ajar and his own all but boarded up. Sirius shoved open the door to Regulus' room and leaned in the doorway.

"Why weren't you downstairs?" he asked.

Regulus looked up from a book and gave a slight shrug. "I didn't think you would come."

Sirius bit back a grumble, "I said I would come, didn't I?"

Regulus didn't move from his place: sprawled out on his stomach on his bed with a book opened in front of him and his head in his hands. Sirius reached into his pocket and pulled out his smoked, flipping open the pack with open hand and plucking out a cigarette with the other. He watched his brother in mock interest as he slid the cigarette between his lips and pushed his hair back before lighting it.

"So what do you want to do?" Sirius asked, leaning into the doorframe again.

Regulus shrugged and turned a page in his book. "I don't know, I thought you were the one will all the bright ideas."

For some reason, Sirius couldn't be annoyed as his brother's casual ambivalence. Instead, he shook his head and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room and sat down next to Regulus on his bed.

"What are you reading, kiddo?" he asked.

"Defense against the Dark Arts textbook," he answered simply, "there's a chapter in here about curses."

"Sounds interesting," Sirius mumbled, leaning forward to try and read over his brother's shoulder. "Hopefully it's not something that they're teaching you a practical approach on."

"No, unfortunately, they haven't been teaching a lot of offensive magic at all, actually; just how to stun and disarm and that sort of thing."

"Well it is _Defense_ against the Dark Arts, Regulus. They're not very well going to teach you the kind of magic that You-Know-Who uses at Hogwarts."

"I wish mother had sent me to Durmstrang instead," Regulus whined, "at least then I'd be able to learn something _interesting_."

Sirius shook his head, taking a long drag off his cigarette and stubbed it out on the bedside table, letting it lay. He leaned forward again, and pulled the book out from under Regulus' nose and snapping it closed. Regulus rolled over and sat up, trying to snatch his book back from his brother. Sirius stood quickly from the bed, holding the book behind his back as Regulus followed him, grasping in vain for it.

"Hey!" Regulus shouted, lunging for it again, "Give that back!"

The more his brother tried to grab the book, the more Sirius tried to keep it away from him. It became a game; Regulus would dart behind Sirius who would hold the book above his head and step aside until finally Regulus lunged after Sirius, knocking him back onto the bed as he managed at least to tear the book out of his older brother's hands. With a triumphant smirk he sat up, realizing that he'd straddled Sirius' lap in an attempt to retrieve his book. The two stared at each other again in a long, tense silence before finally Sirius rolled over and shoved Regulus onto his back on the bed.

"There, are you satisfied, you've got your book." Sirius said, pushing himself up onto his knees.

Regulus lay beneath him, one leg between Sirius' and the other crook to the side, flopped back on the bed. He held his book tightly to his chest as though Sirius would try to take it again.

"You could have just asked, you know. I would have put the book away if you did."

"No you wouldn't have. You would have said 'just a few more pages' and finished the chapter, or ignored my presence all together until you thought I was annoyed enough to pay attention to."

"You know me well," Regulus smirked, tossing the book over his head and onto the floor, and letting his hands lay above his head.

Sirius stared down at his brother, black curls falling around his face and lazily against the silver coverlet on his bed - such striking contrast along with his pale, almost ashen-face. Sirius licked his lips slowly, stifling back the growl that was rising in his throat with a hasty 'I shouldn't be thinking this'. But he was thinking it. In his arrogance, he couldn't resist the handsomeness in the boy's face that was so much like his own. It was Narcissus, if his reflection was two years younger.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Regulus asked firmly.

Sirius swallowed back the lump in his throat, hesitating in his place for a long moment before he managed to move quickly so that he was sitting on the bed next to his brother.

"Nothing," he answered just as quickly as he had moved.

Regulus sat up, "Then why did you move away so quickly?"

"I… I… it doesn't matter, Regulus, just let it alone."

"No, it does matter. Tell me!" he said like an obstinate child.

Sirius ran his hands through his hair and fumbled for his cigarettes in his pocket. His withdrew them and pulled one out of the pack, lighting it and inhaling deeply. "I wasn't looking at anything, Reg…"

Regulus scoffed and sat back on the bed, "Whatever, if you're too much of a coward to tell me, then that's you're business."

The words stung at his pride and Sirius turned around, grabbing Regulus by the hair at the nape of his neck and drawing him in close. "Don't you dare insult my courage," he growled.

"Then tell me what you were looking at," he spat back just as venomously, though he didn't try to move from Sirius' grip.

"You, I was looking at you," he stated after a slight hesitation.

"Obviously," Regulus sounded unamused, "why should that be any reason to turn away from me like you did?"

"Because I…"

"What? Spit it out, Sirius, what the fuck were you thinking?"

He wasn't. Without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Regulus' hard. It was dry, chaste, almost entirely devoid of emotion other than the shaking of Sirius' hand at the back of his brother's neck. He broke the kiss, then, drawing his cigarette back up to his mouth, heart racing and body on the verge of shaking. Sirius had never been like this before. He was always calm and cool and so sure of himself. But that was only because he knew that he could get what he wanted then. Now, he was anything but certain. He exhaled slowly, the nicotine working its way from his lungs into his blood and slowly calming his nerves with his puff. Regulus merely sat in stunned silence behind him, watching his big brother become a nervous wreck.

"Oh," Regulus said, softly, "I see…"

Sirius made a slight noise of a response and continued to suck down his cigarette, exhaling slowly, trying to hold on to every ounce of sweet endorphin-rush he could grasp hold of.

Regulus slid off the bed on the other side and walked around to face Sirius. He plucked the cigarette from his brother's mouth, took the last drag off it, and extinguished it next to the spent butt on the bedside table. He exhaled as he leaned down and cupped Sirius' face in his hands, leaning him back and pressing his mouth to his.

Sirius gripped the edge of the bed to keep himself firmly seated as he felt Regulus' warm tongue trail over his lips, sharing the taste of his cigarettes. He managed to hold back a groan that was desperate to escape his throat, but at the same time, lost control of the rest of his body. He stood, wrapping one arm around the shorter boy's waist and turning them around. Kneeling on the bed again, he pushed Regulus back onto the bed.

Regulus smirked mischievously and began to unbutton his shirt from the bottom up.

"Well, I guess we've found something to do," he snickered.

Sirius growled low and bowed his head, tracing his tongue up along Regulus' stomach, dipping into his navel for a moment before following the opening path before him as his brother's nimble fingers popped open one button after another. He finally caught hold of his pale neck and sucked, hard at first and then tapering away as his sense came to him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Sirius groaned, burying his face against Regulus' collarbone. "We should _not_ be doing this. I should not _want_ to do this…" he hissed.

"Shut up, Sirius," Regulus rolled his eyes, "do as you please… it's not as though we run the risk of reproducing, and that's the real taboo against this. We can do as we want without consequence. You're already disowned and mother will never believe I initiated it. There's nothing to lose."

Sirius sighed at how right his brother was and shoved his own hair away from his face.

"Okay… alright…" he muttered to himself.

Bringing himself up on his knees, he found that they were in almost exactly the same position they were before. One of Sirius' knees were on either side of Regulus' left leg. Swiftly, he tugged off his own t-shirt and cast it down onto the floor. He reached for his belt and pulled it from its buckle, sliding it out of the loops of his jeans. Regulus got the idea and unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, sliding them over his ass and down to his knees. Sirius let out an audible groan as he looked down at the body lying beneath him.

Regulus reached up and pulled his brother down to him, kissing him again – deep, forceful, and desperate. This time, Sirius let himself be taken in by the kiss. He held himself up slightly off the bed on his hands and his knees. The deeper and warmer it became the harder Sirius felt himself straining against his partially-unbuttoned jeans. Slowly, he reached back and shoved them down as far as he could without breaking the kiss, brushing up against Regulus and the edge of the bed to try to wriggle them down further still.

Releasing him from the kiss, Regulus leaned up and gave Sirius' jeans a bit of a tug, kicking his own off the rest of the way and discarding his shirt on the bed next to him. Feverishly, Sirius returned to the kiss, grasping Regulus at the back of his head and holding him in place. He didn't think, he couldn't let himself think. If he did, it would all surely stop immediately, and it was too good to quit. He let himself drown in the feeling of the warm lips on his and the warm body pressed tightly to his, clad erections straining against one another. It was all he could do to keep himself from rubbing down against the body below him like a fucking bitch in heat. He clenched his fists in the coverlet and held himself firm and rooted to the spot he was in, refusing to move forward any more than Regulus would allow him to.

Hands groped at hot bodies, tongues dueled, and the rough panting and occasional groan the only communication between one another. Regulus' fingers lingered at the waistband of Sirius' boxers, hesitant to diving in until Sirius reached down and freed himself from the restraining fabric into his brother's waiting and eager hand. Regulus arched up to rub himself against Sirius, jerking the both of them off in the same hand. Sirius groaned into his shoulder, his body shuddering at the touch – not nearly as rough as his own was. It must have been the difference between a beater and a seeker's hands.

Flushed and sweaty, whispering profanities under his breath and certain that he was going to that special hell, Sirius came over Regulus' hand, spilling on his stomach as well. He thought he would be able to keep control of himself much longer than he was actually able to. It had been so long…

Within moments, the sticky hand pumped its owner of his own orgasm and Regulus shot over his own pale, smooth stomach.

Sirius rolled over onto his back next to Regulus, panting for breath…

His cigarette had burned down to the filter in his fingers and his head was still cradled in his hand. Sirius sat silent on the edge of the bed with tears rolling down his cheeks and onto the floor at his feet. He had been foolish that day, hasty, too quick to give in to everything Regulus wanted of him – as he had always had.

He had kept himself far away from Regulus after that in an attempt to make sure that it never happened again. He thought, perhaps, Regulus despised him for it. Also, that perhaps if he hadn't have pulled himself away from his younger brother after that, he wouldn't have joined the Death Eaters and he wouldn't be dead now. But all he knew then was that he had done something that he shouldn't have done, something dangerous and irresponsible and he never wanted it to happen again… until now.

Now, more than ever before he wanted that boy back under his body, smirking wickedly at him and telling him to get on with it. He wanted those lips on his again and those dexterous hands on his body. He would never get the opportunity now. He had been just as hasty in throwing him away as he had been in taking him. Now, now, he would never be able to say he was sorry…


End file.
